


Down your pills

by kanjioo (erre)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Angst, But also, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Ex-EXO, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, LJ repost, OT11 - Freeform, OT12 - Freeform, Victim Blaming, messy speculation, ot10 - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-07-10 21:19:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7008550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erre/pseuds/kanjioo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And don't read the fine print.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Down your pills

**Author's Note:**

> I don't mean to speculate about what happened b/c we honestly don't know, but the end of 2014's been giving me strong feelings and I had to write something. Not a happy fic. Warning - there's a lot of k-netz-inspired victim blaming in this.

"Are you sick? Are you really sick?" Chanyeol doesn't know who this man is, but he's demanding and his hand presses painfully down on Chanyeol's shoulder. The world swims and their cordi-noona pats his waist gently. _Go on_ , she's saying with silent sympathy. _Just answer him._  
  
"Yeah." It comes out in a half groan.  
  
"Okay. He does look sick." The man acknowledges, putting a hot hand on Chanyeol's forehead. In his fevered daze, the stranger looks a little like his father.  
  
"He almost threw up." Cordi-noona says softly. A wave of nausea kicks up again just thinking about it.  
  
"Well. You know we have to make sure." _Make sure of what?_ Chanyeol thinks. The man pats his shoulder. "Sorry. Go on home."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
It's not the first time.  
  
  
  
  
  
"You know I just have to confirm..." She tugs up Jongin's sweaty shirt, eyeing the medicinal pads on his waist. They don't know who she is, but she doesn't seem like medical staff. She stands quickly. "If he's okay, that's good."  
  
"But he's not okay." Dul-hyung mutters under his breath when she's out the door.  
  
(He was one of their better managers.)  
  
"Do you need to go to the hospital again?" Joonmyun asks, crouching to peer past the curtain of Jongin's sweaty hair. Jongin shakes his head, jaw locked.  
  
He won't say yes, because he already said yes the first time, and the second time, and he can't say it a third.  
  
Three times is a weakness.  
  
Three times is being a child, and they are not children anymore.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"I'm fine." He smiles.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"It's okay." He says, eyes hard.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"Come on, let's go. Let's get it done. We are one!"  
  
Their shout rings in the air, shaking the atoms; maybe if they yell loud enough, the force of it will make the words come true.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Stardom is amazing. He walks through the crowds of adoring fans like a dream; it's like it was merely yesterday when they had their own friend groups, when they didn't know who would be where, but they knew they all wanted to be _there_ ; when they lived and breathed the practice rooms, SM in, SM out. He can't pinpoint now when exactly Korean Literature became Dance I, and Mathematics, Acting Basics. Training for entertainment was also a kind of school, but infinitely more bearable, because they were doing something they wanted to do.  
  
Right?  
  
  
  
  
They asked for this.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"This looks terrible. I'm so sorry." Luhan says, ashamed. He tosses his head back and forth, torn between keeping an eye on the nurse and hiding his face in his elbow. Minseok and Joonmyun stand by apprehensively.  
  
"It's just glucose, hyung." Sehun says lightly. "Lots of people get it."  
  
It doesn't really make Luhan feel any better. The nurse finishes hanging up the bag of clear liquid and proceeds to clean a soft patch of Luhan's inner arm with alcohol. He flinches when the needle goes in.  
  
"Just go to sleep and let the drip do its job." The nurse instructs, taping the tube down. "I'll be back tomorrow."  
  
A smatter of _thanks_ bounces around the room. Everyone turns to him with concerned faces and Luhan laughs weakly.  
  
"I'm not actually as sick as this looks. This looks bad."  
  
"No one thinks so." Minseok speaks up. His back comes off the hotel wallpaper. And falls back against it again. He keeps pushing himself off the wall with his hands. "We believe in you, Lu-ge."  
  
"But really... tell someone if it gets worse." Joonmyun leans over the white covers, his white shirt reflecting white. His gaze is steady and Luhan blinks rapidly to avoid it.  
  
"I'm fine, guys. You should get some rest. Big day." He tries for a grin.  
  
One of their manager's heads pops in. "Patient lecturing the visitors, huh? Must be time to sleep. Everyone out."  
  
Luhan's vision glazes over staring at the orange-tinged ceiling as they exit one by one. When it's just two again, Minseok collapses on the other bed.  
  
"Sorry." Luhan murmurs. It's mostly for himself, but he feels better saying it out loud. Minseok's bed creaks as he gets back up. Luhan listens to him rummage around the room.  
  
"Don't apologize, okay?" A glass of water is set down on Luhan's night table, and his phone is plugged into the charger is plugged into the wall. "Be the deer that eats the lion."  
  
"Thanks," are his last words before he slips into a deep, floating sleep.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Their manager pulls Luhan aside while he's waiting for his costume to be fixed.  
  
"Are you doing okay?"  
  
Luhan nods like his life depends on it. The ache comes back for a second, scratching at his skull in a tease, before it fades away again. The pain medication seems to be holding up alright then.  
  
"I'm okay."  
  
"Okay. Okay." The manager pats his arm and steps back when the stylists rush at Luhan with a new vest. "It's good," Luhan hears vaguely over the bustling of limbs, "that you don't seem too down."  
  
"What?" Luhan asks over his shoulder as he checks himself in the mirror. The design isn't anything special, but it's fine as long as it isn't bad. It's never too bad, but still. They're going up for Beijing tonight.  
  
(For the last night.)  
  
"You know." His manager pulls out his phone, the awfully bright screen illuminating his glasses. "It's not good to look too sick. For the fans."  
  
Something curdles in Luhan's stomach even while his heart soars, filled with guilty images of the future. Of returning home. A pain stabs at his brain, but this time, Luhan can't tell whether it's phantom or not.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The rain washes the van with vigor and Zitao watches the water drops slip-slide down the window as he leans forward in his seat. They were supposed to get to the venue half an hour ago and sitting for so long is making his lower back ache.  
  
He practices _Growl_ in his head, the new lines that Luhan left behind for him. Zitao's been picking up the peices, he has. First Yifan, now this.  
  
He feels a little bad for getting so angry so easily. There's a lot of fire in him, he knows, and it roars often, but it fuels his passion, too. If Zitao didn't get angry once in a while, he might be -  
  
No. He would never.  
  
But, the first time it happened, it happened like a joke; he took Yifan's lines with a relish because it was Yifan who chose to ditch them, and what a ditcher leaves is free for all. Each performance had a bitter flavor, yet Zitao could see he was right - the anger pushed them through those night-long practices to change up the choreography, and every time they got to the rap Tao tried to erase the taste of Kris from the music, to make it theirs again.  
  
Luhan's voice curls in Zitao's ear like slow anesthetic. It makes no difference now. It's like one of those things that gets easier the more you do it - like drinking, or smoking, and Zitao doesn't really try, but no good analogies come up. Whatever. They're ten now.  
  
 ~~And so what if they become nine? Or eight?~~  
  
He peers around the car at the four others who are sleeping or can't sleep. He meets eyes with Baekhyun, though it only lasts a beat before Baekhyun turns back to his phone.  
  
It's not like the members don't talk or anything. They still dick around and some of them are still as annoying as ever, but it doesn't feel necessary to talk anymore. For one, they're exhausted. Like, right now Zitao would really like to be able to pass out until next week, but for once his brain just won't shut up.  
  
Plus, things are too real now; you hear about bands splitting up all the time, and you never think it's going to be you. Reality likes torturing people. _Your "brotherhood" is bonded by this flimsy piece of paper._  
  
 _Look_ , it taunts. _It's so simple to rip in two._  
  
Zitao can't wait until there are new activities. He wants a break, but he's also tired of filling in the holes that other people left. Next year he wants a new song, a new concept.  
  
A blank slate.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Yixing is very good at compartmentalizing.  
  
"Have you seen Wei-ge?" He asks no one in particular. Yifan is the only one here who knows Weiyin as well as Yixing does, but Yifan is keeping to himself as usual. Yixing's not sure he even heard the question.  
  
They're kind of huddled in the corner for some reason; it's weird, because T-3 is one of the more spacious practice rooms, but Yixing guesses animals of all kinds appreciate body heat. Huang Zitao especially. Yixing can't remember being so clingy when he was a new trainee, though this Zitao kid probably doesn't have much experience.  
  
Their dance instructor walks in then, and Yixing can feel it, the resignation hollowing out his chest before they even see the new member.  
  
"Good morning. How are you guys?"  
  
They bow and Yixing instinctively moves closer to twitchy Zitao. "Try relaxing." He murmurs in Mandarin, and Zitao nods.  
  
"This is your new team member." The boy is short, angular, and smiley. He has a nice air about him. "Introduce yourself."  
  
"Hello everyone, I'm Kim Jongdae. Uh... I'm turning nineteen this year and this is my first dance class, so please take care of me!"  
  
Yixing is very good at compartmentalizing, so he stuffs the questions about why there are now two Korean members in M2 and what happened to James and Weiyin away in a neat little box and focuses on remembering Jongdae's face.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The truth is, somewhere in the back of his mind Luhan knew there were seeds in conception, but there were eleven suppressors and Luhan thinks he might have been the twelfth. He squashed the hard times into the complaints, and the complaints into determination.  
  
 _Things will get better_ , he told himself, over and over again. _They're not good because you're not there yet._  
  
No matter how much he missed the suffocation of his home and his old life, he thanked the heavens he wasn't injured like Jongin or Yixing or Zitao.  
  
If he screamed a little in his sleep, it was because he hadn't done enough.  
  
It's a shame that this life can't be bought with blood, sweat and tears. Luhan wants it to be his, and it kills him that his body isn't as strong as he thought it was. He's not some princess. He should be able to handle it.  
  
It takes five months to convince himself quitting doesn't have to be weakness, but then Yifan does it for him. And Luhan sees, with terrible clarity, how Yifan is thoroughly scoured and exiled.  
  
Luhan was angry, too. It was salt in the wound when he saw how losing Yifan broke Zitao from the inside out; how Yixing, who was normally so forgiving, struggled to understand why Yifan felt he couldn't tell them.  
  
 _What haven't we gone through together?_ He'd whispered angrily, and the emotion came out in tangible waves, pulling Luhan's head under with every crash. _Fuck._ Yixing had muttered, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. _Fuck, fuck, fuck._  
  
It was the first time Luhan remembers hearing him curse.  
  
Luhan was angry, but underneath that, he imagined what Yixing would say if he knew. Would he curse him, too? Would they remove his name from their history, and denounce him as a friend?  
  
So Luhan swallows it all. He shoots up on glucose and pain relievers and vitamins and herbal teas, and vows to stagger on.  
  
If he screams in his sleep, it's not a cry for help.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"You don't look okay." Kyungsoo says. _No shit_ , Chanyeol wants to reply. That's not the right attitude though. Kyungsoo's one of the nicest people he knows, and it's not his fault that Chanyeol feels like a pulverized rag.  
  
Another staff member puts a supporting arm around his waist to get him through the bustling hallway. They have about thirty minutes to clear the dressing room and Chanyeol's feet aren't cooperating.  
  
A small hand that must be Kyungsoo's pats his elbow, and then the stylists and makeup staff are herding the members towards the racks to get their regular clothing. It takes a moment for Chanyeol to realize he's still standing up, and that one of his human crutches is on the phone.  
  
"Yeah... yeah, they're done, but it's a tight schedule. Maybe later...? Oh? Okay, fine. Fine. Yep."  
  
"Chanyeol-ah." It's their cordi-noona. "Drink some water."  
  
He grabs it and takes a few sips. "I'm okay." He says to the two men holding him up. "I can stand."  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
Chanyeol nods, and thinks about his bedroom at home where the sheets smell like the detergent Yura insists is the best. He puts his hand on a chair to lean his weight on.  
  
"Just wait here a bit, alright?" Someone says.  
  
Chanyeol nods again. The man on the other end of the phone arrives soon after to ask him questions.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Chanyeol refuses to think about it at first. He does what he usually does, shakes the dark thoughts away, and eats a snack to clear his head. Sometimes, he writes music; since the songs that usually come out during a bad mood tend to need more work later, it's more motivation to feel better.  
  
But it keeps nagging him.  
  
He's. He can. He can ignore the sting of the others not offering a helping hand, because he gets why. That time Jongin - _All_ the times Jongin curled into himself, or knelt down after a performance because he couldn't stand it anymore... it's not like they didn't see him moving in half-steps, flinching the whole way. Regular, healthy Jongin is more like a storm than a machine. He flies, he spins. Injured Jongin is anchored to the stage. It's obvious, but they can't do anything until the performance is done.  
  
Well, they could've. _But_ \- Chanyeol takes a deep breath - but it's okay that they didn't.  
  
What's not okay is what happened afterward. The whole thing unsettles him, the questions from the mystery man, the doubt - it reminds him of the 2013 MAMA Awards, when Kyungsoo hurt his ankle and had to power his way through ten minutes of dancing.  
  
A few people from the staff had congratulated him afterward, as Kyungsoo limped his way to the car. _Good job_ , they'd said. _I couldn't tell you were injured at all._  
  
Like it's good he kept it secret. Like they're supposed to never show that it hurts. Godforbid you ask for a day off because jumping the wrong way might leave you immobile.  
  
Chanyeol slams his laptop shut. The calming down thing is not really fucking working. He also kind of wants to cry, but he'll keep it in, because even Jongin hasn't cried about it yet and he's long overdue.  
  
A dizzying feeling washes over him. They keep perfect appearances for the fans. It's not like they've been brainwashed, right? Brainwashed to believe a camera means you show nothing but happiness?  
  
No. Chanyeol loves his fans. He owes his fans his career.  
  
  
  
  
So he must've asked for this.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
He took the easy way out.  
  
It was easier not to tell anyone, to phone his mom secretly in the bathroom, to help her check up on lawyers, than to admit that he just didn't care anymore.  
  
He avoids checking his media accounts for a long time. He hears the comments he doesn't read anyway. The _Traitor!_ 's as he pulls his cap down low at the airport. The _How could you?_ 's as he waits for a taxi, luggage gripped tight in his hands.  
  
He's not going to lie and say it doesn't hurt, but to be honest, he's heard way worse from people much closer. He wasn't going to wait around for a better apple to fall from the tree; they were working them threadbare, and he was going to get out before they couldn't get up anymore.  
  
It's selfish. It's human.  
  
He doesn't regret a thing.  
  
He chooses not to think about the members too much. They all went into it knowing it was a team made from ink on a sheet, not real bonds; Wu Yifan literally did not matter in the equation. If it had been anyone else, they would've had to be friends with them anyway. That's how idol factories work. And, well, Yifan's choosing to be his own person. They'll understand eventually. Deep inside, they've understood all along.  
  
He'll also admit that he didn't want to stick around to see their reactions in person. They would've torn into him, for even thinking that way before their first concert. Someone might've gotten worried enough to alert the manager, and then it would've all fallen apart.  
  
It's better to cut ties quick. Yixing and Luhan and Zitao. They still have each other, if they want to stay in that cage. They don't need Kris to survive.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"So what's your name?"  
  
"Kris." Yifan spouts automatically.  
  
"Good." The manager says, like Yifan had passed a test. He flips through a few papers. "Have a seat, Kris-ssi. I just want to go over some leader duties with you."  
  
Yifan bows and grabs a chair.  
  
"Do you know what duties a leader has?"  
  
Yifan scratches where his long hair sticks to his neck. "Ah... take care of the members? Answer questions at an interview. That sort of thing..."  
  
"That's right. But a leader also has to enforce rules. Do you understand?" The manager looks at him and there's something there that Yifan can't figure out.  
  
"...Enforce rules?"  
  
"I'm going to say this clearly, Kris-ssi. Uh, I don't want there to be any misunderstandings."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"As you know, there have been some unfortunate cases with people... leaving their groups."  
  
Yifan licks his lips. "Yes."  
  
"As a leader, it's your job to report any complaints to your assigned managers. We don't want anything drastic happening if the problem can be solved quietly."  
  
"I understand."  
  
"Okay." The manager seems to relax, and Yifan can see the prominent crinkle in the papers he'd been holding during their talk. "It's good that you understand. Honesty is the code, right?"  
  
"Yes." He answers curtly. Anything to get out of here sooner.  
  
"Great." The manager even smiles a little. "We're done here. Good luck with the debut, Kris-ssi."  
  
"Thank you." Yifan bows again, closing the door soundlessly on the way out.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"How did the meeting go?" Luhan asks, picking at his hair. It's even longer than Yifan's, and that's saying something.  
  
"Fine." He shrugs. His eyes land on Yixing, who is giving Jongdae an impromptu mini-lesson on the intro choreo for _MAMA_. Yixing sees him approaching in the mirror.  
  
"Hey, good job." Yixing high-fives Jongdae. The latter gives him two thumbs up and jogs off to join the little huddle of M members in the corner, sensing the need for a private conversation.  
  
Yixing sniffs and puts his hands on his hips. "What's wrong, Fan-ge? The color of your face isn't that good."  
  
The words push at the seam of his lips, but Yifan spends a second looking to the side, at where the extra panel of mirror reflects Zitao giggling like a kid at something Minseok had said.  
  
"I might know why they cut James and Weiyin."  
  
Yixing's hands fall to his sides. "What? Why?"  
  
"Maybe..." He stares hard at the mirror, focusing on the figures behind him until his own body blurs out of the way, like a ghost. "Fear." _Precaution. Control._  
  
"What?" Yixing reiterates crossly. Yifan turns to face him, and notes how wide Yixing's eyes are. _He doesn't have to hear this. You're being paranoid._  
  
"Nothing." Yifan quirks his mouth. "I think I was thinking too much."  
  
Yixing's gaze sharpens, but Yifan holds his ground, fists unclenching when Yixing finally eases off, seemingly satisfied with his examination. He then snorts, as if he just processed what Yifan had said. It always takes two rounds with Yixing.  
  
"Thinking too hard. I get it, man."  
  
"Let's get on it!" Their dance instructor yells upon his entrance. His claps ring sharply off the walls on his way to the stereo and they scurry into position.  
  
When he presses play, _History_ begins.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Ending too cheesy? But srsly, why do no-plot surprise fics love popping up so much when i actually have planned stories in progress. I hope this hastily-conceived-thing didn't offend anyone; i just really enjoy writing pointless, angsty exo.


End file.
